Waiting
by Souris
Summary: Holiday-themed vignette from Vaughn's POV


Waiting  
By: Souris (sourismom@yahoo.com)  
Rated: PG (for impure thoughts)  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Never will be. Entertainment purposes. J.J. Abrams. Yadda yadda.  
Author's Note: This is a Vaughn POV. Hopefully I'll get a Sydney POV of the same events written before the show makes them moot. And, yes, I know that a development on the show means that a few lines are obsolete, but I'm choosing to pretend that the speaker doesn't know about said development.  
  
Office of the CIA, Los Angeles  
  
Agent Michael Vaughn sat and stared at the small, festively wrapped box on his desk as he softly batted it back and forth between his hands. Such a small thing. Such a big thing.  
  
"What's in the box?"  
  
He hadn't noticed the ever-nosy Eric entering his office. He could only blame preoccupation and lack of sleep for his truthful answer. "A necklace."  
  
"Christmas present for Alice?"  
  
Vaughn looked up at him steadily but offered only silence in reply.  
  
Eric raised his eyebrows and blew out a small breath. "*Not* a Christmas present for Alice." After a moment, he ventured, "You know you can't be with her, right? The two of you can't ever be seen together."  
  
"I know." Vaughn put the box in his suit pocket and stared at Eric until he got the message and left, no doubt to find someone else to pester.  
  
And that was the thing. He did know. He might not have much experience, as her father had reminded him with pointed disdain, but he wasn't stupid. He knew just how deadly was this game that Sydney played in lieu of a life, operating daily within the jaws of the monster she fought secretly to destroy. For the past three days, he had lived with the very real possibility that he would never see her again. Oh, yeah, he knew the risks.  
  
He now had a better understanding of why his mother's eyes still took on a haunted sadness on the rare occasions when she spoke about his father. He had only known Sydney for a few months; his parents had been married for 10 years. How had his mother endured the waiting, the sitting at home and wondering every day if the man she loved would come home to her again? How had she kept the sickening helplessness from driving her mad?  
  
He knew that he and Sydney walked a dangerous line. He knew that it was foolish -- and possibly deadly -- for him to care about her as much as he already did. He knew that until -- if -- SD-6 was brought down, they had no real future. Their interaction could only consist of furtive assignations in a dark, dusty warehouse and quick meets where they weren't even supposed to look at each other. That was no recipe for a relationship. God knows that she deserved more.  
  
He knew all of these things. And yet here he sat, feeling like an impatient boy on Christmas Eve, full of a humming excitement at the prospect of seeing her again, trying to will the hands of the clock forward.  
  
He glanced at the clock for perhaps the eighty-third time that day. Finally. He had waited long enough.  
  
*****  
  
Warehouse, City of Industry  
  
"I got you ... it's...." he trailed off, a bit unsure exactly what to say about the red-and-gold box he had finally, with the briefing done, pulled from his pocket, the bow miraculously unsquashed. Finally, he embraced the obvious. "Merry Christmas, Sydney."  
  
A look of surprise and then consternation flitted across her face, her feelings as obvious to him as if she had spoken them aloud. "Oh, Vaughn, how sweet! I'm sorry, I didn't get you --"  
  
"S'okay," he interrupted. "Not a lot of time for shopping when you're being grilled by SD-6."  
  
They both acknowledged the truth of his words with the barest of humorless laughs. "Go ahead, open it," he urged.  
  
He watched, painfully nervous, as she lifted the lid from the box and pulled out the delicate chain inside. "It's an angel," she said.  
  
"I know, they're kind of cheesy, but I remembered that you called me that once, your guardian angel. And I thought, I wish I could be there for you all the time, even when I'm not there." He had the sinking feeling that he was dangerously close to babbling, if he'd not reached that point already. "Anyway, this seemed more appropriate than 24-hour surveillance, so...." He waited, both anxious to see her reaction and dreading it.  
  
"It's not cheesy at all." Indeed it wasn't. Unlike so many of the cheap, mass-produced angels that could be found in any mall in America, this one seemed ... special. The craftsmanship was exquisite; the wings appeared to be made of hundreds of tiny, golden feathers, so realistic that they seemed capable of suddenly taking flight. "Vaughn, it's *beautiful*."  
  
He knew that she meant it, and her words gave him strength and a sudden idea. "Sydney, there is one thing you could give me for Christmas. No shopping needed."  
  
Her wide, ingenuous eyes flashed from the pendant to him. "What is it?"  
  
"Call me Michael."  
  
She smiled, that wide smile that warmed his entire body, that smile that he had been so afraid he would never see again. "Michael ... thank you. Would you put it on for me?"  
  
She held out the chain to him, then turned her back, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck. He drew close behind her, his heart racing despite his best efforts. At least, he congratulated himself, his hands didn't tremble as he fastened the clasp. Her skin seemed to glow almost as much as the fine chain resting against it, and he let his fingers slide away from her neck with the quickest, most infinitesimal of caresses.  
  
She let her hair drop, turned back toward him and smiled again, this time almost shyly. Before his suddenly fuzzy brain had time to process her intent, she leaned over, her lips warm against his cheek, her hair tickling his nose. He caught his breath and could have sworn that he heard hers catch, too. She drew back, but only barely, so that their faces were still almost touching. They stayed that way, so close, for countless moments, seconds, hours, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils, intoxicating and somehow mysterious.  
  
One of them moved slightly -- he wasn't sure who -- and then they were drawing apart, putting a few feet between them. Their eyes met and held. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming -- and he was shocked to see that desire mirrored back to him from her eyes. Oh my God, he thought, something's really starting here. He wasn't sure whether to be ecstatic or terrified. It had seemed so much less dangerous when he had thought it was only him. But if she could possibly feel the same way about him....  
  
"I should go," she said, her voice muffled with effort. "I'm supposed to meet Francie and Will for dinner."  
  
"You should go," he replied, his own voice sounding a bit odd.  
  
She nodded, then fumbled to pick up her purse without breaking eye contact. She backed away slowly, finally turned and walked quickly out the door.  
  
He waited five minutes and followed her outside. 


End file.
